If Flowers Could Talk
by red bean soup
Summary: America takes a break from his work to sit in the field behind his old house. It's summer, and the flowers are blooming. He recalls a time when those flowers didn't grow in his country. They were brought from far, far away—from England—to give to his best friend. What was that boy's name again? Davie...?
1. Chapter 1

INTRO

This fic is based on the strip "Davie" and episode 6 of World Twinkle. It is my first fic, but one of the only few that will be canonverse. Thank you and enjoy!

* * *

America sweeps his black and gold fountain pen across the last of his paperwork.

"Hell yeah! I'm finally done!" He cries in relief.

An official pokes his head through the door, signaling for America to please try to be a little more considerate of the time and place. Which, apparently, happened to be a government office.

America quickly sits down, reevaluating his outburst, before he decides that it doesn't matter. He is Mr. United States, and such a small little action can't have that big of an effect on his reputation. Besides, those who worked with him him knew that his little outbursts were pretty common.

America grabs his glasses and jacket and breezes past the guard at the front door.

"Wait! Mr. America! You need an escort!" The guard hurried after him.

America laughs, and his loud voice travels through the empty halls. "Dude, is this your first day? As if anyone can bring down these babies." He flexes his biceps, which were lighter in tone than his previous summers. America's expression frowned slightly at the sight. Now, there is another reason to head out.

With a whoop, America dashes down the stairs. The security guard, too slow to catch up, falls behind, huffing for breath. Another man walks up to him, giving him a sympathetic pat on the back and laughs good-naturedly. "You're probably new. This...is a very common occurrence around here. At least he got his work finished this time."

America grabs the railings on the staircase, hoisting himself onto them right as he was running. Gravity and his momentum brings him soaring down, and he felt as free as a bird. He makes sure to balance himself as he goes, very careful not to fall. Though it didn't exactly matter. Even if he got hurt, small wounds like those would heal in a matter of hours. But if he got a single scratch on him, his boss would always somehow find out, and give him another long lecture about being reckless again.

As America leaps down the last staircase, he flashes a smile to the woman sitting at the front desk, provoking another "Be careful now, Mr. America!" As he ran out the door.

"Fresh air!" He exclaims. Finally. He missed the freedom of the blue sky. Today, it was free of clouds, making them look astonishingly clear, and big.

America begins to walk to slow his heart rate down. Once in a while, he would wave to a passing civilian. If they knew who he was, their eyes would widen at the encounter and they'd wave back excitedly. If they didn't know who he was, they'd give a polite smile and nod, suddenly feeling a bit heartened for some unknown reason.

America digs around for his car keys in his many pockets before he found them. He slid it into the lock of his 1990 burgundy F-150 and hops in, starting up the engine. It took a few tries—his car is old, but it held a lot of memories, and America never had the heart to throw it out. When the engine finally turns over, a radio station blasted a certain country song.

America whistles a merry tune along with the music and backs up into the road. He heads for the countryside, back to the old house.

.

Like the truck, America's old house is also something he never found the heart to abandon. The crusty, rundown thing had already been and patched up several times. White paint was peeling from both the exterior and interior walls. The doors are stubborn and refuse to open, creaking as America forces his way inside. The place is always covered with cobwebs and dust, no matter how often America cleaned.

It looks like an old stuffed animal that had gone through years of love and wear, with a child who tried to mend all its broken parts. It doesn't seem to be able to take anymore repairs. Still, America holds onto it like it was his most prized trophy.

After dropping off some of his belongings, America heads outside to the garden and picks a large tree with good shade. He plops down, back leaning against the trunk. The summer breeze feels good against the heat, and birds sing songs amidst the tangle of branches and leaves.

Looking out the field, America sees a house in the distance. It felt a bit nostalgic, though he can't remember why. It was as old as his own, but had been sitting in neglect and vacancy for years. It had already fallen into ruins, which made the old nation a bit sad.

America feels better, however, as he spots flowers growing over the house. They had spread from the very field that was behind his house: a pale shade of indigo, thin stems clinging onto the earth for dear life.

They were everywhere. A beautiful, but invasive, species. From a distance, they almost look like waves rolling along the beach shore. Their rustling mimic the ocean currents, splashes of water against water.

America sighs. It's that season again. How many years have gone by already, since he had planted them? He can't seem to remember the reason for planting the flowers. He does recall that they were originally from England, and that he had taken the great effort to search far and wide for them before he found them. But why...?

The face of a boy comes to mind. Golden-brown hair, blue eyes, and freckles on his cheeks. The overalls he wore were from an older era.

America wonders who the boy was. Was he the one he wanted to find the flowers for? The face is very familiar. When he forces his brain to think harder, he suddenly finds a name.

 _Davie._

The name makes his heart lurch. His breaths quickened, and he has to calm himself down.

Once he did, he gave a final sigh that seemed to drain all of the earlier burst of energy out of him. America's eyelids begins to droop. He doesn't want to think about it anymore; it took too much work and it made him vey confused. The world falls into a soothing rhythm around him. The rustling begins to sound like murmuring voices.

As America closes his eyes, he realizes that the voices sounded closer to the laughter of two children.


	2. Chapter 2

Some sounds are able to travel farther than others.

Laughter was probably one of them. You could hear it clearly, even from far, far away—especially in the region of lonely plains where only golden fields of wheat and grain grew; the long stretch of field was interrupted only by a small, two-story house.

A toddler with hair the color of the fields of wheat and eyes the color of the sky shrieked in laughter as his big brother picked him up and pulled him into an embrace.

"Dear lord, you get heavier every time I return, America."

America stared into his brother's green eyes, unable to ignore the monstrosity hanging above them. "Your eyebrows seem to get thicker every time you visit, Big Brother England!"

"Why you—!" England wrestled America to the ground, tickling the boy in mock anger. "Say that one more time! I dare you!"

America squealed and flailed until England finally stopped. Together, they laid on the grass for a moment, enjoying the great weather. The Sun was shining brilliantly, and the grass shone like gold. It was a beautiful day. But, as always, America knew his happiness was short-lived.

England got up and sighed, and America could guess what was next.

"America, I..."

"You're leaving again, aren't you, England?" America abruptly stood up, his jaw clenched and hands closed tightly around the hem of his shirt.

"Yes, America. I'm afraid there's some upcoming meeting with the other European nations. It is very important that I attend, so I only have time for a brief visit. You know I don't like this either, America. But don't worry, I'll be back in a jiffy."

"You always say that, but you always take ten or twenty years to return!"

"Well, that's how it is, kiddo. These journeys take a long time, and the meetings, even longer. But I'll tell you what, walk down this road, and you might be able to find some settlers in the area. You can play with them, America."

"But England, I don't want to!"

His brother only gave him a curt hug before he patted America's head and hurried off.

"England you big idiot!" America cried once his brother was out of earshot, tears brimming his eyes. He looked toward his house; it was much too big and creaked a lot, and America found it scary to live in. If it weren't for England's request, he would have gladly slept in the fields every night. At least then, there were the stars. Now that England's visits seemed to get more and more rushed, he didn't want to stay there anymore.

America sat down, pulled his knees to his chest and rocked himself back and forth.

America heard tiny steps, and looked up from his grieving to see a jackrabbit. The creature looked at him curiously. Intrigued, America slowly moved towards the rabbit to pet it.

Without warning, an older boy appeared behind him, causing the jackrabbit to run off. "Hello, there."

America jumped in surprise. He turned around to see a young blonde standing over him. The boy looked like he was out doing chores, firewood gathered in his arms.

America was unused to company, since the only other person had been his big brother. He didn't want to talk, especially because the boy had scared away his rabbit. Yet, the boy's smile made him feel at ease. America managed a small greeting. Not long after, the two were holding a small conversation.

"I'm Davie!" The boy announced.

"I-I am America!"

Davie looked at America with his head tilted, a funny look on his face. "After this country? Well, it's a bit—just a bit—strange, but it somehow suits you very well!"

America's tiny chest swelled in pride. He wondered what it meant, being named after the country. Was the country also named America? He didn't know, but Davie made it sound like a very good thing.

Davie looked at America's house. "Do you live here by yourself, America? Where are your parents?"

"My big brother England only visits once in a long time. He goes back to his country only a few days after he visits. He doesn't come back for years..."

"That sucks! Years?!" Davie frowned, unable to imagine the scenario happening in his own life. He'd be very, vey sad if his own parents had to leave for years. Suddenly, he had an idea. "You know what, America, I will be your other big brother! You can play with me when you're lonely!"

America's eyes widened. "Really?!"

"Yep! Come on, America! As your new big brother, I shall show you my greatest treasure! We're going to have so much fun!"

Davie walked down the hills of the rolling grassland towards his own house, with America following closely behind, humming a cheerful melody.

.

"Father is off to work, but Mother is sleeping, so we have to be quiet." Davie put a finger to his lips before he gently pushed the front door open. The large piece of wood creaked softly before revealing a large room, illuminated only by the fading light from the sunset.

Davie took America by the hand, taking care to steer the younger boy away from pieces of furniture. They ambled around the house until Davie found his way to a small room upstairs that was filled with books.

"Wow...!" America had never seen so many books, except for maybe the book room in his own house that only England used.

Davie beamed. "These books are all my dad's. We brought them over from Europe when we immigrated here." His face looked a little sad as he mentioned his motherland, but he shook his head and it was gone.

Davie went to a small wooden chest and heaved the top open. Inside were many more books. America wondered if there were even more hidden in other parts of the room.

Davie picked up the book from the top of the bunch. It was old and worn, likely to have been browsed many, many times. The cover had a flower on it, and when Davie opened it, there were flowers of countless colors inside.

"These were Father's notes on the flowers back in Europe! He loved to study plants. We often went to a field, and it was just _full_ of these flowers. Look, America! This one is my favorite!"

America moved his hand towards the book and ran his fingers along the blue flower. It was, indeed, very beautiful. But it didn't exactly stand out against the more vibrant flowers in the book. "Why is it your favorite?" He questioned.

Davie laughed. "Haha, it doesn't really stand out, does it? But America, back in Europe, there would be _fields and fields_ of them. It was so blue! Father planted them in our backyard one summer, and even before spring came, they were _everywhere_." His eyes glowed. "When the wind blew, the flowers would rustle, and it sounded like voices. It was beautiful. I would love to see it again, America. I would really love to see and hear it again. And I want to show you how beautiful it is."

America's enthusiasm was almost at par with Davie's. The older boy made the flowers sound amazing. He noticed that Davie was silent after this, possibly reminiscing in his memories of his motherland. He looked sad, and America felt bad that he couldn't see those beautiful flowers anymore. He didn't want his friend to be sad. "Davie!" He cried. "I'll find those flowers for you! I've seen a lot of flowers, maybe one of them is the one in this book! I'll bring it back, and we'll plant them, and next year, we will hear them. We will find out what they're saying!"

There was a creak, and America realized he was too loud. "Oops. Sorry, Davie."

Davie chuckled at the boy's enthusiasm and obliviousness, traces of tears in his eyes. "It's alright. Mother is a heavy sleeper. But thank you, America. I would like that very much."

.

The Sun had set. The rays of light have almost completely disappeared from the sky, and the stars began to appear. Davie led America back to the door, and made sure he was bundled up. "You'll be alright, America? You're not cold?"

"Nope!"

"Well if you are, make sure to come back and I'll bundle you up."

America did one last check that he knew where he was going. "Okay, Davie, I'm off! I'll definitely find those flowers!"

"And I believe that you will. Bye bye, America, see you tomorrow!"

"Bye bye, Davie!"

As America walked home, he could hear the grass rustling. It didn't really sound like voices—closer to shushing noises. He imagined this field filled with blue next year, and voices that would speak of the wondrous things that only flowers knew.


	3. Chapter 3

The boy hummed a song as he went down the valley. The wheat swayed like spindles of golden thread in the late-summer wind. Sunlight had only just reached over the blue horizon, and it cast a warm glow on little America's head as he nimbly picked his way through the field. He didn't want to step on anything, lest it be the delicate plant he was looking for.

Even before dawn, the young boy had woken up and set off on his journey, bundling up for the cold morning without his older brother, like it had been for many months before.

If one looked into the wheat field at that moment, they'd probably mistake America for a part of the plants. His hair glowed with the gold color of the grains, with parts of light brown that made him even more camouflaged in the field.

He probably knew it himself, too. His hair often fell onto his eyes as he looked down, forcing him to brush it back with his hand. Even he thought it was wheat once or twice, until it flew into his eyes.

Everywhere America looked, there were yellows and golds. But no indigo.

"Come out, flowers!" He called out in a coaxing tone, one England had often used on him when he was tired or sad. "I'm America! I'm here to bring you to Davie! He misses you!"

As much as he called out, there was no answer, only the stillness of the morning. America traveled westwards across the plains, the Sun warming his back, until he reached the mountains.

Even America himself was surprised at how far his small legs carried him in such a short time. It was funny, too, because he could have sworn days had passed, yet he felt no more tired than after he left his house.

Still, there were no flowers to be found. America huffed in defeat, about to give up any minute. The Sun had passed its midday mark, and it looked like it would start setting in a few hours. His coat was off and in his arms, dragging at the earth by his feet. Had it really only been a day? With the distance he covered, it should have been way more than that. But what did a child like him know? He sat to watch the grass in the distance sway, which were just beginning to sprout, in contrast to the ripe grains in the field back near his home.

He wandered a few more hours, looking for his way back. The tree there seemed familiar. Or maybe it wasn't the same tree? There was the small lake he'd passed. It was getting colder, he put the jacked back over his shoulders. Night had set, America stood alone under the cold, dark blanket of night speckled with shining stars. He looked up at the beauty of the scene like he'd done every night. It was so easy to see them, especially in these open plains.

Sometimes, when England stayed the night and the nighttime weather was mild, they'd light a small fire outside, and enjoy the stars. "Look, America. That's the North Star. And that is Ursa Major, the big bear. That would be me, haha. There's the small bear. That's you!" But England hadn't stuck around to spend time with him like that for a long time.

He let out a breath, and it came in a dense cloud of warm air before it evaporated into the cold. Hurry, hurry.

The child got home just as he felt like he was about to turn into a frozen icicle. The house was dark and empty, as always. Disappointed in the lack of progress, he crawled into his bed and stared at the shadows cast by the moon. Davie had said that he'd see him tomorrow, but it'd be okay if he stayed away for a few days? Especially if he was going to find those flowers.

Davie definitely won't mind. He is so nice... America told himself as he drifted away into sleep.

.

America went out many days afterwards. So often that he'd forgotten to keep track of time, and had explored what was probably every inch of the country. He wanted to look to the west of the big mountains—they probably took a while to travel through, but he'd recently found certain paths that would get there faster than other routes—but England had said that the "stupid beardy" owned the land there, and that he shouldn't get too close.

Some days, he would go out to look around more. On rainy or really chilly days, he'd stay home, dreaming about vast hills dotted with indigo. Every night, after he returned from a long day of searching, he came back tired and empty-handed; but he kept his naive determination and never lost hope, knowing they would appear sooner or later.

Often, he wondered if he should just go back and tell Davie he couldn't find his flowers. But Davie's disappointed face would appear, and America feared he wouldn't be his friend anymore. I'll look for one more day. He told himself. Then tomorrow came and he told himself the same.

One night, after a particularly long day out, America was restless, and decided he would read a book. The child wasn't allowed to light anything with fire, for he was too young and could get hurt. But on one of England's visits, he brought over a new invention which allowed America to simply flick a knob to create instant light. It mesmerized the boy, but he only turned it on once in a while so it wouldn't run out of fuel.

Like on certain special nights, he took the lamp and went to England's room to get a book from his shelf. His big brother had many political, war strategy, scientific, and whatnot books on that shelf, but had a small section near the bottom dedicated to children's books for America to learn new words on his lonesome nights.

Tonight, he didn't go to that small section. Instead, America fetched a wooden chair and placed it in front of the bookshelf, using it to reach the higher shelves. He found the section with science books, where he noticed the books on plants. He dug through them, knowing that if Davie's flowers could be found in England's books, his brother would surely know where to get them.

He found them near the end of a big book, after browsing for almost an hour. His eyes had started to droop and his head felt heavy, but he perked up excitedly when he found them.

I'll ask England when he gets back!

England came only ever so often, however. Once every few years, but they didn't seem that long, so maybe Davie wouldn't mind. He decided that he would tell Davie to wait a bit more. They could play together before then. Hopefully he didn't mind.

* * *

 _History(1) If anyone is wondering—I set this story in Colonial America some decades after the first settlers arrived. This is the reason that England told America not to go past the Appalachian Mountains, which was where French territory began._


	4. Chapter 4

America started down the rolling green hills the moment he could see the outlines of the landscape outside his window. It was cold outside, and frost covered much of the grass that covered the hills. The child's breaths froze in midair, turning into a small, white cloud. The cool breeze that came a while ago turned into a biting wind that forced him to pull his coat up to cover his neck. He suddenly remembered his scarf and regretted not bringing it along with him during his trip.

When he left the house, the clouds covered the sunrise. America was guided only by what little sunlight was able to soak through the gray clouds. He slowly made his way towards Davie's house, down the long stretch of hills. The mountains in the distance were covered with a white cap, and tiny pieces of crystals floated from the sky.

 _It's snowing!_ America thought. It was going to get even colder. He hoped Davie was warm. He'd seen a fireplace in their house, so it would probably be just a minor problem. He also worried about getting buried underneath before he reached Davie's house. On the other hand, he was also a little delighted to have the snow, for it was very pretty.

America made his way down the hill, up another, down a larger hill, before he finally reached his destination. By then, some of the clouds had cleared and the sun was high up in the sky. Davie's house, now both older and smaller than he'd remembered, appeared before him. There was a light flickering inside, so he knew someone was home. He excitedly knocked against the wooden door a few times. "Davie! It's me, America!" He said merrily.

When the door opened, America was both surprised and disappointed to see that it wasn't Davie who'd opened the door, but a middle-aged woman. She had a thick coat on, and a wary expression on her face. They didn't live near many neighbors. When she saw America, her eyes widened in astonishment.

"Why hello, dear. What are you doing out there in the snow? Where did you come from?"

America smiled. This must be Davie's mother. "Hello, ma'am. I am Davie's friend. My name is America! I live somewhere over those hills," he at the direction he'd arrived from. "I met Davie some days ago. There aren't many others around here, so I was very lonely. Davie is my first friend! I actually promised to find him some flowers, but I can't find them around here, and I want to tell him that I'll ask my big brother to find them back in England!"

The woman's furrows deepened, but she managed to find a smile. "Really, now? That is quite an interesting name. And I'm afraid Davie left for that town that just recently formed. He went a few months ago to make a start as his uncle's apprentice! He hasn't really mentioned any friends lately, though I do remember a kid…" She paused, then hesitatingly added, "would you like to come in?"

"No thank you, ma'am. I can go find him, it's no trouble at all!" America beamed, pleased at the kind offer. "May I ask which way is to the town?"

"Oh, erm, wait a moment." She turned around, calling to someone in a nearby room. America guessed it was to Davie's father. "Honey, which way is to town?" A mumble. "This young man needs directions." She continued her conversation with the person America could not see.

Finally, she turned back to America, whose chest was puffed out in pride at being referred to as a 'young man'. Davie's mother pointed to a distance slightly to the left of where the mountains stood. "If you continue going that way, you'll reach the big road. Then as long as you head the direction where the sun sets, you'll get to town after a while. Are you going to be traveling with your brother?"

"No, ma'am. He is in England at the moment. I will go myself."

"Walking? But it is a long journey…"

"No worries. I probably travelled further just a few days ago. My legs even started to ache a little, haha! Thank you, Davie's mother! I will tell Davie you said hello!"

The woman smiled as she watched the child, who waved until she could not see his face clearly anymore. "What a strange child. I wonder if he will be okay alone. The town is a few months away, and that's by carriage…"

"Dear, who was it?" Her husband called from his chair in the book room.

"Oh, nothing. Just a traveler."

"In this snow? Huh. People are getting brave these days." Her husband showed no sign of interest, focused on his book of plants. The man had been a naturalist back in his motherland, and the new plants were of high interest to him. He'd wanted his son to continue his studies, but the boy suddenly lost interest in the subject some years back, and he was left to his research on his own.

"Indeed." She confirmed. Then to herself, she pondered the situation. _But young boy? That is very strange._

But she said no more about the kid with blonde hair, who was named after the country and claimed to be her son's friend. Within days, she'd likely forget him. But for the rest of that afternoon and the following one, the boy lingered in her thoughts.

.

America headed towards the mountains, as Davie's mother had instructed. Though they never seemed to get closer, their white caps did seem to get thicker along with the decreasing temperatures. America smiled to himself. "How majestic!" He cried aloud, using the word he'd learned from England's book the night before he departed on his journey

After he crossed, what he'd counted to be, the fifth hill, he spotted the road that had been described to him. It was freshly cleared, free of any grasses or small plants that could have taken root in the patch of earth. Though there were a few hoofprints and wheel tracks, there were no people in sight.

America looked towards the sky to see that the sky was beginning to grow dark. The temperature dipped to the point where he could feel the cold through the thick fabric of his coat. Snow gathered on his clothes and melted, soaking through his clothes. It wasn't the best conditions, considering he was going to have to spend the night outside, but it wasn't like he hadn't done it before. The days passed by really quickly, and sometimes he got too tired to make the trip back home in the dark anyways. Besides, his brother had told him that nations didn't get sick easily, unless it greatly affected their country. There were also one or two bison here and there, and he could easily pick one up—England freaked out whenever he did that, though he did not know why—and he could snuggle into their fur for the night.

The stars came out, and the snow stopped not long after. Thus ended the first night of America's long trip. Besides the wind and the heavy breaths of the bison, there were no sounds in the night. The small nation thought about how vast the country was, and how lonely it would have been had Davie been unable to find him that day. _But he did!_ He smiled. _I am so fortunate to have a friend like him. No matter what, I will definitely bring back a piece of his homeland for him!_

* * *

 _I could've sworn I posted this chapter a week ago...(I've made myself a two-week time limit for chapter updates! No more procrastination!)_

 _Aside from that, I've changed my username? I have art accounts on other sites and I wanted to keep everything under one name, and I hope it didn't cause any confusion. I also changed this story quite a bit, though it was only on the layout and not any of the words. I'm still trying to figure out my preferences for everything on here, and I think it's finally concrete now, so please excuse my perfectionism... ^^;;_


	5. Chapter 5

America watched the scenery pass by him, marveling at the sights. There were the brown deer that shied away from him when he'd approach them, the great bison whose brown coats stuck out from the yellow grasses, and the large purple mountains in the distance that he'd constantly stare at in awe. While his feet were not sore, his mind was growing tired from the travelling. He was easily distracted by the different animals and plants that he passed by. Sometimes, he found himself on his hands and knees to check that the flowers really couldn't be found. He didn't find them, of course.

It took all he had to stay on the road. For starters, it wouldn't be good if he lost his way. The country was vast and England had told him that it would be dangerous to run into some of the other territories, though he thought he wouldn't mind if he met others that were like him. If he lost his way, he knew he would eventually find his way back to somewhere familiar, but he would waste a lot of time. _Davie is waiting!_

He had been following the path for what must hundreds of days, for he counted the number of orange sunsets that covered the sky in pink and purples, but they felt no longer than a few hours. The nights eventually got better, much to America's pleasure. They didn't exactly get warmer, but rather, more humid. America even considered leaving his coat behind a few times. But before he knew it, the weather became cold again and he made sure to keep the jacket with him on the journey.

There were days when it was rainy, causing America to be soaked down to his feet and very, very uncomfortable. Once in a while, he'd find a tree that had thick leaves that allowed him to evade most of the rain, but most of the trees were barren of leaves and looked quite frightening in the dark.

He started to think that maybe it was a bad idea, and that he would find Davie once he returned to his house. _But he went there to become an 'apprentice'...he won't be back for a while...I told him I would go back to him…_ He decided to keep going.

When the road finally began to broaden, every so often a wagon or two carrying families and farmers to town would even pass by him. The boy got many strange looks from people. A handful of them peered over their vehicles and asked if he was lost, or perhaps maybe separated from his family, to which he would shake his head and simply reply, "I'm going to meet a friend!" And they would scratch their heads but nod politely.

He didn't know when he finally made it to the town, but he remembered that he passed by more wagons as he continued on the road. One windy afternoon, he reached a sign that he made out to say "Welcome to—" A few of the words were foreign to him, but made a note to look it up in England's big books. He reckoned that he must've found 'town,' because it was a large place bustling with activity. A dirt on the road in front of him exploded into the air as carts and wagons treaded over it. The town was very large; rows of shops and businesses had people coming and going; homes were cluttered further down the streets. All around him, he heard the snorting of horses, the ringing of bells, the chatter of people. The town was a busy, busy place.

 _How do I find Davie…_ He wondered. There were faces all around him, but he did not recognize a single one. There were a large number of strangers in the crowds, and it overwhelmed the child. Still, America made his way down the dirt road, calling out Davie's name. "Davie! It's me, America! America!"

Some faces turned to look at him strangely, but America squared his small shoulders and let his voice ring out. There was a hidden worry in America that what he'd found was not a 'town,' but instead another place where people gathered. After all, he had never outside of his home. He'd always waited for England to come home, and didn't want his brother to worry if he was out when he returned from his country. But this time, he had a good reason to be away. He'd made his first-ever 'friend'. America called Davie's name one more time.

"Are you looking for the blacksmith's nephew?" A woman who came out of their shop in the corner of the street asked.

America perked up. "Yes, Davie is a blacksmith's apprentice and he's working with his uncle right now!"

The stranger directed him to a place further down the road. "Last I heard, he's picking up some supplies for his uncle today. He's a fine young man! I hear his apprenticeship is about to complete very soon."

America was very happy to hear that Davie had finished his studies so quickly. He could spend some time playing with him then. He thanked the woman and took her instructions to walk to the woodcutter's.

"Davie, are you here? It's America! I came to find you because I need to tell you something!"

"Oh my, I think that boy is calling to you. But 'Davie'? Wasn't that what they called you when you were younger?"

America turned to the voice to see the owner of the voice next to a lumber stack talking to a young man with a familiar blonde patch of hair and blue eyes that matched his own, and a face dotted with freckles. "Davie? Is it really you?" Davie flinched but the nation took no notice and rambled on in excitement. "I've really found you! I've traveled for such a long time to come meet you, and now I'm finally here! I came to say sorry—I know I said I'd be back the next day, but I was looking for the flowers. Really! But I couldn't find them at all, even after searching for so long. I saw them in my big brother's books, though, so I can ask him once he returns from his trip!"

"What's this? First it's some kid calling you 'Davie,' and now you're asking a child to look for flowers? Perhaps you gained a little brother over the years." Davie's companion chuckled. "You're quite an interesting man for just a young blacksmith!"

Davie scowled in embarrassment. "Stop it, I don't know the boy. Let us finish loading the cart with the wood. Uncle is expecting us." America smiled patiently as Davie finished heaving the wood onto his cart and his friend attached the neck of it onto a grey horse. He then departed with a final, puzzled glance at the unfamiliar child before he walked down the road.

America looked at the departing man with his head tilted. "Davie? Where are you going?" When he received no reply, he panicked. _Oh no! He really is mad!_ "Davie, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to stay away for so long! Please believe me! I'll get those flowers to you, cross my heart! Then, maybe you will be my friend again...?"

But Davie was embarrassed and he kept walking on without looking back. He didn't know what the little boy was talking about anyway. Sure, his parents had called him 'Davie' when he was younger, and he did recall something about indigo flowers and a curious little kid out in the middle of the vast fields. But that was so many years ago. Surely, that small child back there couldn't be...

When Davie finally decided to turn back for another glance, he was already too far away and the strange boy could no longer be seen.


	6. Chapter 6

America walked home with his head up, more determined than ever to find Davie's flowers. He ignored the hollow feeling inside his stomach. Davie was not the type to hold a grudge, he knew. Or he hoped he knew. Either way, he did not allow room for negative thoughts. _I will find them, and Davie will be happy again! He is just sad. He is just waiting for the flowers._

But he did not know when England would be back from his trip and all of them usually took many years. Though the wait never lasted too long, he wanted to get to Davie as soon as possible. He decided that he would go home and wait patiently, even if he could almost jump in anticipation. _If this is the one trip that England takes the longest to return from, I would be so mad…_ America knew he shouldn't be mad at his brother, and yet, he felt frustrated when he realized that it was going to take a lot to get those flowers.

America put his faith in his big brother that he would return very soon as he walked down the large path leading home.

The road that he had came from had gotten bigger than he remembered, extending far beyond where previously had been wild grasses and weeds strewn across the land. There were also more farms and houses out in the open country, and where the hills once had only wild plants were farms that controlled the growth of fresh wheats and grains that were waiting until they could be sold in town.

Because it was so much easier to walk through the road, he was able to get home quicker than before, though he'd still spent some time out in the open fields at night. When he got home after his long trip, the first thing he did was go straight to sleep. His adventures had exhausted him, and so had Davie's rejection, and he didn't even notice the strangeness of returning home after being away for a long time. He awoke with his hopes renewed, and he set out to the seaside to wait for his brother in anticipation.

.

America waited for many seasons. The grass had dried out and recovered, the snow came and went. Every day, he set out to the shores when the sun reached its peak in the sky. Sometimes, he'd allow himself the leisure to walk the paths paved by the people at the harbor. People would often greet him, some more merrily than others, but otherwise the peace and quiet was very settling.

He saw many ships arrive and leave the harbor, though he could not recognize any one of them as his brother's. Both the harbor and the ships that docked on it began to grow larger and busier as the months passed by. He wondered if Davie's town was also getting bigger. Everything was growing larger by the day, he noticed. Everything was _changing_. He wondered if that was why his friend no longer talked to him—because Davie had changed, like everything around him.

Finally, during one of the warmer days, America saw a large ship that proudly showed off a flag of Great Britain. Though there were many ships that beheld the flag, America distinctly remembered the large lion carved onto the bow. He remembered it because he had searched for it all his life, though it was larger than ever. _England's Ship._ It was coming.

America ran down to the harbor, causing many of the merchants hustling along the platform to be shoved out of the way. A few of them gave him dirty looks.

"Why is there a kid here? Where are his parents?" One scowled.

A man bellowed with laughter a few feet away. "Oh, it's Mister England's boy! Let him be. His brother is coming back to town today. Isn't he excited!"

America chirped a few "Excuse me!" and "Pardon!"s while laughing as he ran through the people. He felt his burdens lift from his shoulders. His big brother could solve anything, he knew. "England, England!" He cried out as the ship came into the harbor. A figure on the ship waved to him and the boy waved back enthusiastically, almost jumping in excitement. "England, hurry!"

Waiting for the ship to be docked seemed like the longest wait in his life. But it finally did, and he ran up to greet his brother and jumped up for a hug.

"My, my, America. How you've grown!" England laughed. America wondered how long it had been since he'd seen the edges of those green eyes crinkle up in joy.

"It's great to finally see you again, England! You were gone for so long again! Oh, I have an emergency, and it can't wait! You've got to help me—I need these flowers for a friend, but I can't find them anywhere and I've looked practically everywhere from the mountains for the river—"

England touched his shoulder to stop him. "Woah, hold on, America. You're speaking too much at a time. You've met the settlers inland? How nice! As for going to town by yourself...well, you're a big child now, so I guess it's not strange. But while you were out in the open country, please tell me you stayed safe. And what's this about flowers?"

America clenched his fists. "They're so important! I saw those flowers in your books and I can show them to you at home right now!" He pointed towards the direction of their house and pulled on his brother's sleeves.

England chuckled. "Alright then. And on our way back, why don't you tell me what they're for?"

As England took America's hand and let him lead the way back to their house, America told him everything from meeting Davie, to how he missed his home, to how the flowers would make him happy and not sad anymore. "If I left this country, I'd definitely want to take those mountains and hills with me, just to remind me of home. Not that I want to. Since there is only one place with those mountains and these hills. Right, England?"

"That is very wise, America. Of course you'd want something familiar in a foreign land."

America smiled, but soon grew worried. "Do you think they are so big that I can't pick them? Or maybe so small I can't see them? If that's so, how do I get them back to Davie?"

England burst into laughter. "If you can't see them, how did Davie know what they were?"

"Oh." America came to realization. "Well, I was thinking of that just in case they were." This caused a chuckle from his big brother.

"So you see?" America continued, holding up the large book up to his brother's face. "These are the flowers I'm talking about! I must get them to Davie right away!"

England crossed his arms and looked as if he was in deep thought. "Hm...no wonder you couldn't find them out there, America. Those flowers can't be found on this land. They're a species native to the islands near my house."

"What?" America looked at his brother, confused at his vocabulary, but he knew it wasn't good news. He could never get them to Davie now. His head fell and his eyes drooped to focus on the floor. The anxiety that had been gnawing away at him for all the while he had been waiting for his brother reemerged. He felt his pulse racing as he tried to find a solution. What could he do now that he won't be able to get Davie his flowers? Would they not be friends anymore?

England noticed and sighed. "You know what, America? I'll get them to you. It'll be a while before I can, since I've some business in this country before I go back. But I'll get them to you the next time I return. How about that?"

The boy's eyes widened as he felt relief wash over him. "Really? You will? Thank you, England! You're the best!" He threw his arms around his brother and hugged him as tight as he could. His problems were all solved. There was nothing to worry about at all.


	7. Chapter 7

Davie's house was empty.

After England departed once more to return to his motherland, America had gone to Davie's home again to check if Davie had returned from town yet. He walked down the rows of giant hills before arriving upon the familiar house. However, once he was within range to see the smaller details on the house, he knew something wasn't quite right.

The house had seemed lonely, and uninhabited. America's gut feeling told him such, but he questioned it. _His parents were here,_ He thought. _They were still here, only a while ago._

But his fears were confirmed when he arrived in front of the house. He knocked on the door six times, before he tried opening the door. It gave way easily, and America couldn't even begin to worry about what he would do if someone was inside before the door was wide open. He stepped in timidly, peering behind the door to see if anyone was behind it.

"Hello? Are you in, Davie's parents? Please pardon me for intruding…" He called out into the room. His voice was the only thing amid the silence in the house.

When he was certain no one was home, he decided to look around as he thought of the things he could say to Davie or his parents, if they suddenly came home. The wax candle on the table was dry, a layer of dust covering it. Most of the furniture that he had previously seen on his first visit with Davie was missing, and the most significant thing he noticed was that Davie's bookshelf was also gone. The book of flowers which he had loved so much.

America's stomach formed butterflies as he worried about where Davie could be. Why did he leave the house? He had to go find him. He must be at the town. Otherwise...America didn't know where he could be. He quickly made his way home to get ready for another trip.

.

As America made his way to the big road, remembering Davie's mother's directions from a while back, he noticed that the more he walked, the stranger the road looked, but he couldn't put a finger on why. As he reached the purples mountains he'd passed the last time he was on the road and he saw their size before him, he realized what was so strange about the roads: they had gotten even bigger than the last time he'd seen them.

 _Of course...how could I have forgotten? Everything is changing and getting bigger. Maybe, like England, Davie is bigger now and has more things to do, so he can't play with me. But that's okay. He will have time for me sometime, like England does, right? Even if it's for a little while, it's okay. It's okay._

He passed by more houses where there was once only open fields. When the rainy days came, he was able to take shelter under the farms' structures, near the cattle. They often looked at him with their round eyes, and America would get the urge to curl up next to them to keep warm in their brown coats. When he woke up, it was to the clattering of the farmers, who were getting ready to start another day on their fields. He would quietly sneak away before they noticed him.

America arrived at the main road much quicker this time, his anxiety urging him to keep going on days that he might've otherwise lingered in the place he was at. The road was wider than he'd remembered, and wagons carrying families and farmers into town. He kept to the side of the road to avoid being run over, and once he found his way to where most of the buildings were, he tried tracing back to where he'd met Davie the last time.

"Davi—" He began to call out, then thought better of it. He didn't want to call out Davie's name too many times because last time he'd seemed annoyed at him for doing so. He decided that it would be better to ask around for him.

He walked down the streets of the town, finding himself in dead ends often. Finally, while trying to find his way out of the busy streets so he doesn't get himself even more lost, he found himself inside a place somewhere off to the side of town with a lot of metals and a hot fire burning inside. There was a lot of smoke and heat in the air, and America coughed as he looked around him.

The first thing the boy did was step away from the fire. He knew he shouldn't get too close or else he could hurt himself. Then, he remembered that Davie's new friend had said something about being a blacksmith. America knew what blacksmiths were—they worked with metals. And the store he was at certainly looked like they worked with metals.

"Hello? Is anyone in here?" He said to nobody in particular.

There was a sound of moving boxes and metals hitting against each other. A young man appeared from one of the other rooms in the back. "Hello there. I'm afraid we're closed right now. Are you here to pick up something for your parents? It might be too heavy for you, so I could send it over myself."

"No, I'm looking for a friend of mine. His name is Davie."

"Davie..? Oh, you mean the former blacksmith! I actually used to be his apprentice! Time passes by so quickly. He became a botanist after his age caught up to him and being a blacksmith became too strenuous for him. It's such a change! I think he is at home right now. It's right down the road a bit, in the third house with the large plants in front…" The man gave America directions towards the inner parts of town, where it wasn't as populated as the parts he'd just passed.

"Thank you very much. Goodbye!"

"Goodbye!"

America walked set off down the road again, looking for the house the apprentice had described. He made it there in no time, a small house with many colorful plants growing in front. A man sat on the front porch reading a large book with a little girl. After America got closer, he saw that it was the book of plants Davie had once showed him.

"Papa used to live back in the Motherland, and this one kind of flower grew everywhere. Papa even used to believe that they could talk! But of course, they were flowers, so..."

That man was definitely…!

"Davie! Davie! It's America! I'm back with great news! My brother can get the flowers for you!" America jumped onto the wooden railing to peer up at his friend.

Davie and the little girl looked up. "My, now who is this?" Davie said with a gentle smile on his face. "Are you lost, child?"

The little girl hid behind Davie timidly and a woman came out of the house. "Is something wrong?" She asked.

"No, darling. It seems that this boy is lost, but he won't stop talking about flowers."

America continued to babble on in excitement. "The flowers only grow in England, Davie! That's why I couldn't find them! You don't have to be sad or angry anymore! Just wait a little. Just wait, and my big brother will have the flowers from England!"

Davie only looked at him in confusion. "Are you sure you're not lost? Is your big brother around here somewhere?" He bent his knees, grunting as he did so, to speak to America at eye level and patted his head. "I could help you find him if you're lost."

"No, the flowers, Davie, the flowers! I told you I'd get them, remember?"

But Davie only looked confused, but smiled at him kindly and asked about America's guardians.

"No, no, no! Don't you remember me? It's America! America, your friend!"

America tried to tell Davie about the flowers for another few minutes before he got exasperated. _Why doesn't Davie understand what I'm saying? I can find his flowers. I told him I'd find them for him!_

"Are you alright?" Davie asked him.

America shook his head, but said, "I'm okay. I don't know why you don't remember about the flowers, but maybe, If I get them to you, you'll remember again. You'll remember _me_. And then we can play again. I'm going home now. But I'll be back. Bye bye, Davie."

Before Davie could ask America anything else, the boy had already turned and walked dejectedly down the road.

Davie scratched his head. He wondered if the boy will be alright. But he had talked about his brother, and he assumed that the boy's guardian was nearby. Davie's daughter had returned inside with her mother, and he was left alone with his book of plants and his chair. He sat down, joints aching, and closed his eyes. The day was calm and Davie could feel the cool breeze of autumn. He opened his eyes and picked up the book in his lap, turning to a page with a small indigo flower.

The image made him wonder if he should be remembering something he'd forgotten. "Actually...that boy reminds me of someone...that one boy that I only saw once back in the Mother and Father's house?" Davie tried to dig up the image of his former friend in his mind, but his years caused his recollections to become hazy. He looked down the road to see if looking at the child again would help him refresh his memory, but the young traveller had already disappeared. His head started to hurt from all the thinking and he soon gave up. However, he knew without a doubt that the strange boy that appeared today was very much like him.

"It's been a long time," he sighed. He remembered that he had once believed that plants could talk. But of course, as he grew up, he realized that it was only the wind. "Flowers talking, haha, what an idea. Children sure dream big." And while thinking about his childhood, he remembered his beloved daughter and returned inside his house to spend time with her.

Meanwhile, leaving the large and busy town where no one had time to notice him, America wondered what he could do. Why didn't Davie remember him?


	8. Chapter 8

England's ship reached land in the early evening, and the nation looked around expectantly for his younger brother. The busy port was brimming with sailors and merchants even in the receding sunlight, and England wonders if his little brother got lost in the crowd. But maybe now he could be seen even amid a large crowd—America had grown a lot more than England would have expected on each of his visits.

"Mister England," A voice called behind him.

England's mind clicked and he knew what the man was going to hand him even before he turned around. "Thank you, young lad. I'd almost forgotten. It's been a long trip." He grinned and took the cluster of flowers held out to him; a couple of them fell as he took them from the man and it blew away with the gentle breeze. The small green stems twisted over each other to reveal indigo petals. It wasn't easy finding the time to retrieve the flowers, but if it was for America, it was worth it.

England looked around—still no America. He furrowed his thick eyebrows in concern. America was always at the port, a few meters from where his ship would be, waiting for him. Today, however, was an exception.

"Waiting for the child, are we?" One of the older men on the dock called to him. England recognized the man as one of the merchants he saw on his last visit. Gray hairs had sprouted on his head and his skin was beginning to wrinkle from age. Between his current visit and the next one, the man may no longer be there. England was used to it. After all, it had already been centuries. But the thought of it still pained him.

"Yes, good sir. He'd always been so loud when he came to greet me. It's strange that it's so quiet today."

"You're right. He actually didn't come at all recently. It gets a little lonely without him here waiting for his brother. Did something happen?"

England sighed. "I don't believe so, but I may be wrong."

The man laughed before he clapped a hand onto England's back. "Well, them you'd better find him and ask him about it now, shouldn't you?"

"Yes, indeed." England clutched the jar in his hands as he gave the last orders to his crew and departed for the hills where America's house was set.

On his way, he counted the settlements that he passed by. "1...2...3…my, this country is growing. America must have matured so much…" He sighed, regretting that he wasn't able to spend more time with his brother.

As the sea faded behind him and the towns passed by, the hills began to slope and England reached the little house that he had built for his younger brother. It was smaller than he'd remembered, particularly because all the other houses in the distant towns seemed so much bigger nowadays.

England made his way up the last few curves of the hills and approached America's house. He pushed on the half-closed door and frowned at America's forgetfulness.

"America, I'm back!" He called out. When there was no reply, the nation made his way into the house, watching out for furniture. "America?" He called again, this time hearing a soft sniffle in one of the inner rooms.

England stepped into America's bedroom and saw the boy huddled in a corner with his head facing the wall. The first thing he thought of when he saw the scene was a kicked puppy, and worry struck him faster than he could breathe.

The nation cautiously took a few steps closer to his younger brother. "America, are you alright?"

England received a sullen gaze that told him he had done something wrong. He was always late to meet America, he knew that much. But America had never once complained about it. The boy knew his big brother was busy and stayed patient. Last time, however, there was urgency in his voice, and England wished he had made some effort to prioritize America's request. Was he too late?

"I'm sorry, America. I know I got back very late. It's just that my boss—"

"England you dummy! Big, big dummy!" America flailed against the open air and England had to step back to avoid getting knocked over. Even though he was a young nation, America was very strong.

"America, calm down and talk to me. What happened? Was I too late?"

America was crying tears in frustration, and he practically shouted at the top of his lungs, "Davie won't remember me! Am I too late, England? Am I? Does he not need the flowers anymore? Does he not need _me_ anymore? I don't know! I've been asking myself for days and I don't know…"

England looked at him with sympathy. He couldn't find the words to explain it to America; the only thing he could do was hope that he'd make it in time. "I'm sorry, America. I can't help you with that. But I can at least do this much. Here," he revealed the small bunch of flowers he had been holding onto—most of them had wilted or fallen as he made his way to America's house, but there was still plenty to fill up America's small hands. "I'm sorry I was late."

America's eyes shone with amazement, and all his emotions from before seemed to calm like the clear after a storm. "You found them..." He reached out to hold the flowers as if they were made of porcelain. "They're so...blue. Like the ocean. No, it's a little purple too. What is this color, England?"

"Indigo." England smiled. "Now you better get going. Your friend is waiting for you."

"Oh!" America jolted to attention, remembering his task. "Right, I must get these to Davie. Thank you, England!"

Like an overexcited deer, America bounded out the room and down the dirt path. He looked back once to see England on the porch watching him and he waved. By now, the directions to town were engraved in America's memory. He recognized the mountains and the rivers and the different farms that he passed. All the while, he clutched the flowers and made sure they were still alright.

.

Town, of course, was busy as usual. The wagons came and went down the large road, kicking dust into the air. Horses snorted as they led families to their destinations. A lot had changed while America was absent, but the activity levels more or less stayed the same.

While America wasn't completely sure that he remembered the road to Davie's house, he decided to try his best. He walked into a number of alleys that led to nowhere in particular, stepped on a cat's tail, almost got scratched, ran away, and wound up before a local church where many people were gathered.

America was confused. It wasn't Sunday, but everyone was dressed formally. The women were in long black dresses and the men in their clean suits. Though America found it strange, something else caught his eye. A young boy stood in an area away from the adults, and America recognized the skinny figure with his golden hair like wheat fields.

"Davie…?" He called out. While the boy looked different from the other times he saw him—healthier and smaller; America figured that he could have caught something and recently recovered. But that person that stood before him was clearly Davie.

When there was no answer, America ran closer until he was within hearing distance. He called out louder this time, hoping his friend would hear him. "Davie, Davie! Look what I brought!" America held up his flowers with pride. He felt like he could cry; he finally kept his word and brought the flowers back. It had taken a while, but now they would finally be able to plant them together.

When Davie saw America, his eyes widened and at first he looked surprised. America wondered why he looked a little different. The young nation assumed that it was because he had never seen that expression on his friend before, but he began to realize that something wasn't right. Davie's eyes didn't shine, nor were they as blue as they used to be. Still, he threw the flowers into Davie's hands with a cheerful grin.

Davie looked at the plants with a slightly puzzled look in his eyes. Then it cleared, and he seemed to understand. He took them with him as he walked towards the large group of people.

Though he didn't say a word, America was delighted that he had accepted the flowers. All of his previous concerns melted away, and he followed behind Davie happily. "I think we could plant them today. Most flowers already start blooming in the cooler days, but these still seem healthy. Some of them wilted on the way, but they just grew back right back after a while, right where I dropped them! It's like magic!"

Davie didn't speak a word until they arrived at what seemed like a large box. In a voice America didn't recognize, Davie said, "He said these were for you, Grandpa," and tossed the bundle of small flowers into the box.

America was confused and shocked at why Davie threw the flowers away. But then he peered over the box and saw that an old man laid inside, eyes closed. He didn't understand. He looked around and saw that a lot of the people were silent. Realizing this, he dropped his voice to a low whisper. "Davie? Who is this? Is he sleeping? Is that why everyone is so quiet?"

Davie looked at him with a pained expression. " _That_ is the man that you are looking for. And yes, he is sleeping. Forever."

"Oh," America acknowledged. _That is Davie?_ His friend's face seemed much too leathery, like it was dried up. There was hair between his nose and mouth, and they were all gray. But he saw the freckles and the spots in his hair which could have once been the color of gold, but faded to white. _Davie…?_ "When will he wake up? How long is forever?"

Not-Davie hesitated for a full minute before replying, "He won't wake up. Forever is a long, long time."

The young nation frowned. "But I brought his flowers—I...I brought them. I finally brought them…" America wanted to cry. Had his journey been for nothing? Davie won't wake up for a very long time.

After a minute of anxious pondering, his anxiety faded and his mind was clear. America remembered all those times he had to wait for England's return, and how he always came back. He turned to Davie. "I will wait for you to wake up, Davie. You must be tired. Was it because you waited for me? Well, since you waited for me, it's my turn. I'll wait for you too. I'll even plant the flowers as I wait. Then, once you wake up, you will know that I've found them."

America smiled, satisfied at his resolution. He sat down on the earth, disregarding the fact that his clothes were going to get dirty, and rested his head against the box that Davie slept in. With the smile still on his face, he whispered, "Goodnight, Davie."

Not-Davie looked at America sadly, but he said nothing. He left the young nation to greet his extended family, and once he returned, he found that the stranger had already left. He figured it was one of his relatives' children.

Not long after, the workers put his grandfather's coffin into the earth, and covered it. He and his family went home.

.

When Davie's grandson returned to visit his grandfather's grave on the anniversary of his death many years later, he found that it was _covered_ in flowers. From his knowledge, he knew that it

was the kind that was only found on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. However, he knew he saw them somewhere before.

He figured that it might have been in his grandfather's old reference books from England. He had taken an interest in his grandfather's old reference books on plants after his death, and had read through many of them throughout the years. He distinctly remembered a note on there that said something like: _Sounds like they could talk._

At first, he'd chuckled and wondered what his grandfather could have been thinking. Maybe he had been a child when he wrote it. But once the flowers were before his eyes, he began to question whether his grandfather was right. He could almost swear he heard a tiny voice among the flowers as the summer wind blew across the field. He closed his eyes and listened.


	9. Chapter 9

America wipes his eyes, feeling disoriented from having just awoken. He is suspicious about whether he was still dreaming, and looks at the grass to see if he could pick apart the details. He wasn't a lucid dreamer, but sometimes the dreams felt so real that they left a lasting impression on him.

He sits in his spot for another minute, about to doze off again from the sound of the wind blowing, the birds chirping, and the rustling of the plants, when his cellphone rings. He lets it go on for a full three rings before he forces his hand into his right pocket and presses the green button.

"Yooo…" He lets his words slur and fade out lazily.

"Mr. America? Mr. England called and asked for you." It was one of the staff members back at the Capitol. Her voice sounds slightly worried, and knowing England's colorful vocabulary of words, it is no surprise.

America is distracted and does not reply. He sits and watches the flowers some more, hoping to recall the details of an old friend. He thinks about a boy with sandy blonde hair, freckles dotted on his face, and dazzling blue eyes. Then he shakes his head and thinks instead of a man, shrunken with age, lying in a large box, and his hair faded into a light gray.

"Mr. America?" The woman asks again.

"Please tell him to call my cell. I'm so tired."

"I did, but he said he had some business that needed you back at the White House."

America sighs. "Alright, alright, I'm coming. Oh, but before that, did he happen to mutter obscenities about me with moderately strong language?"

"Well, er, as a matter of fact, he did."

"Good. It wouldn't sound like him otherwise." America chuckles. "I'll be back in a few."

America hangs up and takes one last look at the flowers in the field and at the rundown house in the distance. He gets up and pats his pants free of the dirt that clung onto them. The flowers sounded like human voices, as usual. _Well, it's no use dwelling on the past._ He blinks and decides not to think about it anymore.

But he lets himself dwell on them for a while longer before he walks back to his truck, gets in, and backs into the road.

.

The nation sits at a desk, subconsciously rubbing his pen against the desk as he waits for a call. It forms blue lines on the oak table, and America tries to draw an eagle even as his eyes were unfocused and blurry.

The man next to him clears his throat and whispers, "Mr. America. That is the president's desk," and America immediately drops the pen in shock. He tries rubbing the ink off, but it only smudged. The nation turns to the man with his eyes wide. Then, he grins sheepishly.

"Don't tell Obama."

America gets up and puts a hand at his waist, which is sore from sitting for so long, and stretches. He looks out the window, where the sky is cloudless and blue, the trees a crisp green. Spring had come and gone once again.

He remembers a time when he wished he would grow up faster. But now that he is older, he wished time would slow down. It was a human kind of thinking, really. But what were countries, but humans that lived longer, had more responsibilities, and knew more people?

America's cellphone rang. England. He pressed the green button to answer.

"Hey, what's up, Eyebrows?"

The voice over the phone mutters in a disapproving manner while America snickered. He could almost imagine the scowl on the other party's face. "America you tit, I just connected to your number two seconds ago. I don't need this hooey. And I've been waiting to contact you since, oh I don't know...four hours ago while you abandoned your work to have leisure?

America's grin didn't fade. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, dude. What's up?"

"Since Peter retired, we've hired a new diplomat. I thought you'd like to meet him so I sent him over to your place yesterday. He's a pretty kind lad. Cheerful, too. Try not to intimidate him too much."

"Awesome!"

"He should be there soon. His flight should have arrived a few hours ago. I asked someone over there to send him to you. His name—"

Knock knock. "Mr. America, there's an ambassador from the UK here to meet you."

"He's here, Engs! Talk to you later!"

"Yeah, yeah. Interrupting someone when they're talking..." A sigh. "Get going, you goof." Beep.

Knock knock. "Mr. America?" The man watching the door called politely from outside.

"Yea, let him in! I'm expecting him!"

"Welcome to the United States of America!" He throws his hands up for glamor, which is slightly humorous combined with the silence that follows.

The person who steps in wears polished shoes and a formal business suit. His hair is combed back and there is a nervous expression on his face, but his glowing blue eyes, freckled face, and brave smile causes America's typically-merry smile to freeze. _Is this a deja-vu, or…?_

As the man walks towards the desk America sat in, America notices that he looks at the large windows, smiling. America glances back behind him and all he sees is indigo.

"I really like the flowers, Mr. Nation. They remind me of home. They grow everywhere back in England too. They make a lot of noise, don't they? I thought it was going to be quiet here, I didn't know there was going to this many at the Capitol."

"A-ah, yea…" America is lost in thought and could only give a half-hearted reply.

Once the man gets close, his gaze shifts to the desk, and America sees the blue ink, still resembling an eagle. It takes America a full minute to realize what he is looking at, "oh crap-" he says not-at-all quietly. He took his first instinct to cover it up, even though the man had already seen it. He looks up at the man, a bit less embarrassed than he should've been.

The man shakes, one of his hands covering his mouth and the other holding onto the desk for support. Tears begins to line the edges of his eyes, and as he loses his composure, he bursts into a loud laugh.

America looks up at him, eyes filled with wonder. _Ah...had I been hearing flowers, or was it him all along…?_ The minute he finishes his thoughts he feels a weight lifted off of his chest. He wonders if he will ever be able to think about the past without regretting something. But at this moment, he feels that it will be okay. Everything will be okay.

The man's laughter fades away, and he clears his throat. "Well, Mr. Nation…" Suppressed laughter. "I'm here as the new diplomat for the United Kingdom. Please pardon my rudeness. I really don't mean it."

It was America's turn to laugh. "No problem at all! Welcome to America. My name is, well, America, haha. I look forward to working with you."

The man smiled. "Thank you. I look forward to it also. My name is…"

* * *

ENDNOTE

Thank you so much for staying through this fic! This took over half a year, omg. I know I edited a lot of stuff after posting it (which includes, but is not limited to, my pen name and the story formatting), but I think I've settled into my account pretty well. On this story, I feel like I might have dragged the plot out in some places and I felt like I really should've planned out more things, but I'm glad I didn't give up on it. Thanks again for those who are still following these updates (and for all those nice reviews! I'm literally blushing in my seat right now) and see you soon!

.RBS


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